To Measure An Angel
by Suz24
Summary: You know what they say about angels with big wings.


**Wrote this last night at around 3am in a moment of Castiel withdrawal. Season 8 is really really great, but every once in awhile I need some Castiel to tide myself over until his return.  
**

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You know what they say about angels with big wings.

Castiel remembers Heaven's saying, "_Angels with the biggest wings shall be doomed to drag them on the dirt of the Earth."_

It sounded better in Enochian.

Castiel prefers Earth's version of the saying anyway, "The bigger they are the harder they fall."

The saying never really referred to wings, as usually the angel's with the highest rank had the largest due to their immense power and grace. No, it was a euphemism. Angels who seek greatness and power are doomed to fall. Castiel remembers when Dean retold the sentiment in his own words.

"So angels with big egos are supposed to fall? So basically, Zachariah."

Castiel rather liked that explanation, Zachariah had always been power hungry. He proved later to not be the only one.

Nonetheless, this saying spawned vanity among some of the angels. It was not entirely noticeable, if you hadn't spent millennia in their presence. Some of the angel's held their wings wider and higher than most, subtly expressing their power and beauty to the others. Power was, still is, an admired quality.

They were always careful not to hold them too exposed though, rarely letting the elbow of their wings stretch into a flat bend, as if there was a kink in the small celestial bone structure. They were careful, controlled. That's how Castiel could tell the level of an angel's vanity. Not that it really bothered him; he had little interest in such things. He thought if the angels wished to show off their wings they might as well, it was just a saying, brought upon by human interactions. Just as vanity is a human trait. Arguably a sin, but before now, Castiel did not think it sinful or even as vanity. Now he knows how human some of the angels really were.

The angel with the largest wings in his garrison, Ramiel, was the most loyal angel and he certainly had no problem with showing them off. Though he never had a problem with dragging them either. Ramiel said dragging them was an action of habit; he liked the feeling of the ethereal light and power of Heaven running between his feathers.

Either way, Castiel didn't understand why some of the angels worried over this tiny detail that was of little importance. Castiel had always been modest of his wings, ever since his creation. He naturally held them close to him, it was easier that way. Castiel's not sure how they would compare to the other angels, he really had no interest in ever finding out anyway.

He did find out one day, the same day he was given the order to save Dean Winchester.

He had been given the order and he had seen his mission. Castiel loved humanity and the thought of it in ruin had sent his grace burning up with power. And when his wings had finally opened themselves up completely, for the first time in what seemed like forever, he remembers the few shocked exclamations of his brother's and sister's. Even he himself was a little shocked, he had never stretched them out so completely. They were _massive_. His previous battles had never deserved such an occasion.

"My my, dear Castiel. You've been hiding something have you."

"This is unexpected of a Principality."

"You've been far too modest, Castiel." His brother's and sister's had said.

He hadn't cared at the time, his mission was to save Dean Winchester, and his wings would look less spectacular after his battle against the demons of Hell anyway. He had thought little of that old saying at the time. He had no more thoughts of his brother's and sister's surprise. He had nearly forgotten—as much as an angel can forget— the way his wings shone and pulsed with power. He had written off his brother's and sister's newfound respect as something he was rewarded for receiving such a difficult mission, or how when he returned, he thought of it as the respect one soldier gives to another.

He hadn't thought it was because of his wings. He hadn't looked through their grace to hear some cry out, "Castiel is destined to fall!"

Now, he knows he should have. Now his long, full wings burn and drag in the dirt. The sensation, while shameful, is rather enjoyable he thinks. Real.

His wings are quite massive, beautiful even, he will miss them. Dean was impressed with them the last time he saw them, only a few weeks ago. For someone who's lived hundreds of thousands of years, that shouldn't seem like such a long time. It has been getting harder to manifest them onto the human plane of existence. It's funny how they are so clear to him now, almost as if he were back in Heaven, when in reality he's never been more human.

Castiel thinks of that old saying now, how he never thought of it in the literal sense. The wings upon his back are far too heavy for his diminishing grace to carry. He will shed them soon; they will break off of him like severed limbs. He wishes they would burn away in a hot flash of light, how they would upon his death, but falling comes with many prices. One of them being pain.

In a moment of clarity, he pulls out a few feathers, the Winchester could use them later for whatever spell requires them. The action sends ripples of pain lancing through his body and his knees finally give out. He's not sure how much his wings weigh in human terms, but he imagines a human trying to lift a car and thinks that the image doesn't quite suffice.

His hands catch his body from completely falling, just a few more moments and he'll be an angel no longer. He holds onto it with every fiber of his being. Castiel has told himself, time and time again, that he won't miss it, but now he knows how much of a lie that is. Dean would be furious if he knew Castiel lied to him again and for the first time since he snuck out of their hideout turned home, he's glad Dean hadn't followed him.

He rests his forehead upon the Earth, it's his home now, there's no shame in the act.

Castiel cries out when his wings break away from him, the remaining grace breaking off with it. It's quick, but the pain remains. He can feel blood seeping from his back and he wonders if the breaking of his wings left physical wounds. He'll have to ask Dean how to stitch them up, or maybe he should ask Sam. In the past few weeks, Dean has seemed more determined to blame this course of events on himself than Sam.

He'll have to wait for tomorrow to decide, for now he wants to rest in the cold night air, mourning his lost grace. The stars are out tonight at least, he'll miss being able to look at them up close-

"Cas? Cas you out here? Where are you? You son of a bitch, you said you wouldn't leave again!"

Looks like he won't be waiting until tomorrow.

"Cas? Cas why are you...Oh shit. Fuck! Cas!"


End file.
